Repercussions (of a one night stand)
by Von
Summary: It's just one of those things that happens. But now John has a third (fourth) son, who is too mute for any of their comfort and trailing a shadow of evil behind him.
1. Chapter 1

Screw the timelines. What have they ever done for me?

This is set somewhere mid season 1-2 and Harry is 15-going-on-16. 

**One of many little HP/SPN bunnies fornicating madly in my brain.**

WARNING:

Gore and adult concepts in the first chapter.

**Repercussions**  
(Of a one night stand)

Officer Alex Johnson glanced over the unassuming house with a practiced eye as his partner was plucked at by the woman who had called them in.

Sure enough even from here he could see a spray of dark liquid on the inside of the window of #4.

Already, curious neighbors were gathering around to gawk at the excitement of a police car parked in their neighbourhood. Judging by the orderly lawns and craning necks of the locals, this place didn't see much drama in day to day life.

Sharing a glance with his partner was enough. Phil approached the door with him but hung back to discourage anyone from following them in.

Alex knocked loudly.

"This is Officer Johnson of Surrey police! Open the door!"

Silence.

Sharing another glance, both men placed a hand on their tasers and Phil gave the doorknob an experimental turn.

Then the door was swinging open and the gore in the living room made the spray of red on the window look tasteful.

Alex swallowed thickly as the stench rolled out to hit them and Phil gagged at his side, turning his face away to gulp fresh air. He muttered something about clearing the scene and walked quickly away.

He never did have the stomach for these sorts of jobs. He was lucky that way.

Alex sighed and forced himself to look around before he stepped in any further and contaminated the crime scene.

Three bodies lay.. well, all over the place. One massive man had his legs.. removed.. and which had been hung grotesquely from the ceiling fan by their feet. His torso, without looking too closely, had clearly been split wide open and it looked like his own _hands_ were buried in it..

Alex swallowed again and deliberately looked away. Even he had his limits.

Tragically, there was a smaller figure – clearly a teenager, despite the bulk – lying next to him. He was a bloody mess, gobs of fat looking to have exploded out of his body somehow – massive blunt trauma perhaps? He was also naked and his penis was inexplicably erect.. which, if the gore wasn't enough, hinted at some truly twisted individuals responsible for this.

A woman was across the room, also naked. She was streaked with blood and sweat and other things and one of her hands was propped up on the blood-splattered coffee table. The hand was missing all of its fingers. Her body was sprawled at the feet of a fourth victim who sat slumped against the wall, speckled with blood but still clothed and with limbs attached and.. and..

S_till breathing_.

Alex reacted in a heartbeat, no longer caring about contamination, grabbing his shoulder radio and barking an order for medical support _now_.

He reached the kid in three long strides, gaze sweeping over him looking for injuries. There were none apparent, save for the poker that punched right through the kid's right shoulder and impaled him to the wall. The kid himself was deathly pale, face mucky with dried tears and sweat, green eyes hazy and half dead-looking under slow blinking lids.

"Hey there, kid." Alex greeted softly, not wanting to startle him even as he shifted to try and block the gore from too-young eyes. There was no reaction.

"My name is Officer Johnson, but you can call me Alex." He continued gently, wanting nothing more than to get this poor kid _out_ of this hell, but completely unable to do so. He also didn't want to frighten or startle the kid by touching him, in case he further aggravated his shoulder injury.

He could hear the ambulance sirens approaching. They were already en-route as a matter of procedure, but news of an actual survivor got them going a hell of a lot faster.

"Everything's going to be ok, son." He promised. "I'm going to get you somewhere safe. I promise."

Dull green eyes just stared through him like he wasn't even there. 

_Repercussions_

John fought the urge to drum his fingers as he sat in a waiting chair outside one of the department's offices. From down the hall he could hear the low murmur of thirty odd people sitting in half-cubicles doing their jobs with grim determination and from inside the office behind him he could hear a woman screaming abuse at the social worker.

That could work in his favour. After dealing with that bitch of a woman, even he'd look downright respectable.

It was unbelievable, what he was hearing. Some of the verbal bile spewing out of the woman's mouth – about the social worker, about the child involved – was so incredibly aggressive and offensive that it was almost offensive _to him _that she could get away with it.

Suddenly the door slammed open and a dishevelled, bony woman stormed past him dragging a little girl roughly by the hand behind her.

When he thought of all the times various social workers had tried to cause trouble for him and his sons.. and yet in this state, this woman could abuse the worker herself in a way that would have anyone else arrested. It was sickening.

There was a quiet sigh, then a woman stepped out of the office and tried to smile at him.

"Mister Winchester?" She asked politely. John nodded as he stood.

"Excellent. Sorry for the wait. Please come in."

He followed her in and shut the door behind him as the woman went to a filing cabinet and exchanged one folder for another. She walked briskly back to the desk and sat with another sigh.

"Rough day?" John asked sympathetically. The woman shot him a tired, grateful smile.

"Rough job." She replied lightly, before opening the folder and scanning it quickly to refresh her memory.

"Oh, yes." He expression settled into something much more official, with a touch of sadness. "But first, do you have the identification requested in the letter we sent you?"

Without a word, John produced both his driver's license and the letter mailed to him.

"Sorry it took me so long to make an appointment." He apologised with practiced ease. "But I don't live at this address anymore. The post office held on to it because they know every time I'm in the area I check for mail."

The woman nodded absently. "Do you have something showing your current address?" She asked automatically, pulling up a file on her laptop. John handed over a doctored electricity bill. She filled in the details without a hint of disbelief.

So far so good.

"You letter mentioned something about guardianship?" John broached the topic carefully, despite having an inkling about what this probably involved. He hadn't exactly lived in sexual abstinence for the past twenty years. He was just surprised it had come to this.

"Yes." The woman said shortly, then looked up. "Oh, sorry – Amanda Oakley. I'm afraid I tend to get a bit mono-focused."

They shook hands.

"Yes, you do seem to have inherited a child." She agreed. "From England. Although at this point the evidence is not waterproof, and you have the right to request a blood test. Technically so does the young man involved, but.." She trailed off and sighed, looking both awkward and sympathetic. She met his eyes, her own blue-grey gaze both understanding and firm.

"I'll be brutally honest, Mr Winchester. Legally, you have guardianship of this boy and we'd like for you to accept him into your family. I understand you have two sons of your own?"

John nodded.

"According to their records, your family has been investigated in the past." Amanda continued, managing to both sound respectful and unyielding at the same time.

John nodded again. "We weren't normal." He explained honestly. "We moved a lot and I couldn't always afford the best for my kids. They had trouble connecting with their peers and often preferred each other's company, so they stuck out to their teachers."

He was proud of himself for managing all that without sounding defensive. It helped that his kids were old enough now that the system couldn't take them away. Not that he hadn't managed to drive them away just fine by himself..

"Sam, my youngest, got a full ride to Stanford." He added, not needing to fake the pride in his voice. Amanda smiled at him.

"That's wonderful." She congratulated sincerely. "In fact, it makes me all the more keen for you to take this young man into your family. You must be very close."

John had to suppress the urge to laugh in her face. Or choke. After years of trying to take his kids away, now they were trying to give him another one? People were crazy.

"We were." He replied, probably a bit more honestly than he normally would. "Of course, these days my boys are off living their own lives."

That gained him another sympathetic smile. The smile soon faded however.

"Mr Winchester.. as much as I genuinely want you to be able to give a home to this boy.. I must be honest with you. It wouldn't be easy."

John thought of raising two too-smart-for-their-own-good kids on shotguns and the supernatural.  
He suspected they had different definitions of 'easy'.

"He a trouble-maker?" He asked bluntly. Amanda shook her head.

"No. Worse. I'm afraid he witnessed his family being.. quite brutally murdered." She shook her head again, frustrated with herself. "No, brutal isn't the right word. Evil, perhaps. Ritualistic. It.. had a very strong impact on him."

John couldn't breathe for a second.

Demons? Was it a random attack, or had they actively hunted down the child of one of his one night stands from years ago. Why else would they allow him to survive, if not to send a message to John himself?

"What happened?" He whispered. Amanda bit her lip.

"No-one is quite sure. There was very little evidence found, from what I understand. And Harry himself.." She hesitated, casting him a careful look before continuing. "Harry hasn't spoken a word since the police found him. He's almost completely unresponsive. He had been impaled to the wall with a fireplace poker and his medical report said he'd likely been sitting there for at least a couple of days before being discovered. It was a miracle he didn't suffer an infection severe enough to kill him. As it is, he's had some surgery to repair his shoulder, but there was a lot of damage and the doctors aren't confident he'll ever get full use of it back."

John breathed out, slowly.

"Do you have a copy of the report? Medical and Police?"

Amanda shot him a startled look.

"I need to know, especially if he isn't talking." John invented quickly. "I'd also like to share the folder with a police friend and counsellor I know, just in case."

Amanda visibly softened.

"So does that mean you would be willing to take him in?" She asked hopefully. "He's already been flown to America, along with his school things. I've visited him in the hospital. He understands what people say to him, he just doesn't always react."

John nodded, convinced that – if nothing else – leaving this kid in the hospital was like an open invitation to whatever demon that had attacked his family to come back and finish the job. Plus, he had a hunch the kid wasn't talking because nobody had been asking the right questions.

"Absolutely, although... I _would_ be interested in knowing just how exactly he's related to me. And what his name is." He added.

Amanda blinked.

"Oh, right.." She said sheepishly, suddenly looking a lot less professional. She flipped to a different section of the file and read aloud.

"Harry Potter, fifteen. Orphaned as an infant, legal guardians: Petunia Dursley (Maternal Aunt), Vernon Dursley (Uncle-in-Law), now both deceased."

"How was he orphaned?" John interrupted, a slow, cold suspicion in his guts. Amanda turned to a different piece of paper and shook her head.

"It.. doesn't seem very clear. It just says 'housefire' but there's no more detail than that."

The cold feeling turned icy. Amanda continued, skipping past bits to read out what she apparently thought he needed to hear.

"Investigators at the scene found a deceased, apparently domesticated, owl upstairs." She looked up for a moment,eyes dark. "You should also be aware that there is strong suspicion as to past domestic abuse directed at Harry."

Out of sight, John's fist clenched. Bad enough his mistake had led to this... but an abusive childhood too?

"...In what appeared to be Harry's bedroom. There were the remains of hoarded food in a hidden space under the floorboards of that room as well as some knickknacks – presumably of a sentimental importance. There were no indications as to any reasons for the attack or why Harry was spared when his cousin wasn't. The only mention found of the surviving victim was in Petunia Dursley's personal diary, which was often filled with hateful comments and the occasional nonsensical rant."

She looked up again. "Apparently.." She hesitated. "She thought young Harry was some sort of – and I'm quoting - 'supernatural freak'. Psychologists in Britain have speculated that the woman blamed her nephew for her sister's death... a sort of transferred survivor's guilt.

John couldn't reply. This was just too damned close to home.

Amanda hesitated, seeming to worry – probably about chasing him off – but continued.

"Uh lets see.. yes, Petunia mentioned her sister's 'disgusting secret' - that apparently just before marrying she had a, uhm, fling of some sort in America." She darted a nervous look at John's blank face. "The language gets a bit foul at times, but the short of it is that her sister – Harry's mother – confided in Petunia looking for advice and Petunia advised her to keep the child, in the hope that when her sister's husband-to-be discovered it was not his, it would destroy their marriage."

John swallowed.

"Pleasant woman." He observed sarcastically. Amanda rolled her own eyes in unprofessional agreement.

"She wrote down the name her sister gave her – John Winchester – so that if the opportunity ever arose, she could prove her sister's infidelity."

She looked up again.

"And that was how we found you. Britain's system got in contact with ours. You popping up on multiple grids helped us find you a little easier – we mailed the same letter to a few different addresses we have on file."

John just nodded slowly.

"Do you have a .. picture..?" He asked hoarsely. Without a word, Amanda showed him an old snapshot of a young woman with deep red hair and sparkling green eyes.

God, he remembered her hair. It had been so soft and rich in colour.. he'd been amazed by it, had stroked it when she slept. She had been young, too. And he had been too broken to care.

And one semi-drunken mistake had seen that poor, beautiful girl murdered barely a year later, probably slit open and on the ceiling just like Mary...

God. He was cursed, he just knew it.

Hell, he was probably the reason the demon had come for Sammy, all those years ago.

And now he had a son who had been raised by hateful, hurtful relatives. A son who had had no Dean to protect him and love him. A son who had been visited by demons again and experienced their evil to an even stronger degree than his own sons had.

A son who was alone and broken and probably terrified every moment of every day.

"When can I take him home?" He managed, ignoring Amanda's full-body slump of relief.

He guessed he could understand a normal, fearful civilian not wanting to get involved with a boy whose family had died horribly – twice – and was now hard work to look after. But Winchesters didn't work that way.

"And maybe a change of name would be a good idea too." He suggested on a whim. "Fresh start or something."

Amanda's smile was brilliant and he knew he had her in his corner. 

_Repercussions_

Amanda stopped to speak briefly with a doctor and introduce John as the new guardian, then led the way to his new son's hospital room.

There were three beds, but only one was occupied. In the furtherest bed, lying in slatted sunlight, was a small black-haired boy. His bed was slightly raised and someone had turned his roof-installed television on, but there was no sound.

Amanda gave him a bracing smile and opened the door.

The boy's eyes snapped open, his head turning sharply. Just as quickly, he recognised one of the intruders and his head turned back.

"Good morning, Harry." Amanda greeted, managing the fine line between warm and too-cheery. Despite that, Harry didn't react. He didn't close his eyes either, but stared at the television as if he'd just been watching it.

Amanda didn't even pause. This seemed to be normal. She walked around to the foot of the bed, standing under the television. She didn't try to order or force the boy to look at her but just allowed herself to be an easy thing to pay attention to.

John couldn't stop staring.

He hadn't expected to feel much of anything. He knew men had some kind of hormone reaction that triggered a sense of protectiveness and love when they first held their newborn children – something about their babies' defencelessness. That _had_ to be what was happening now, because as John's world-weary eyes tracked the boy's legs – so slim under the covers, so far from the foot of the bed – and saw his thin arm pierced by an IV, his bleak face so lacking in animation...

He felt the same rush of protective fury, of drive, that he got whenever Sammy or Dean had ended up in hospitals. He may not have raised his third son, but just the knowledge that he was _his_, coupled with his undeniably fragile body, was triggering a hell of a lot of emotional reaction.

"I have some news for you." Amanda continued, not prefacing the news with any sort of descriptor like 'good'. She'd worked in the system too long to know that family wasn't always happy news.

"You remember when I told you we were trying to track down your biological father?"

At this, Harry's attention flickered, lightning fast, between the two adults in the room.

Amanda nodded.

"That's right. This is John Winchester. He has two older sons, but he's looking forward to getting to know you."

John stayed silent. Dark green eyes, set in bruised flesh, studied him just as silently. Amanda's cheerful spiel paused for a moment as the two males eyed each other. John was pretty sure he caught her lips twitch.

"I've explained to him the situation you're coming from." The woman continued, more gently. Harry's attention returned to her, eyes narrowing fractionally. "And I'll be continuing to work with both of you, at least for the next couple of years, to ensure you settle in well."

Stepping around the bed to Harry's side, the social worker pulled a card from her purse and pressed it gently against Harry's hand till the boy accepted it.

"You can call me on this number at any time." She said quietly. "If you're having problems. If you're scared. If you just need someone to talk to who isn't involved in everyday life. That's my job, okay? So please let me be there for you."

There was a long silence, as Amanda made it clear that she expected an answer by not moving an inch.

Finally, Harry nodded, eyes averting.

"Thank you, Harry." Amanda smiled.

"Now, your doctor should be here soon with your release information. In the meantime, is there anything you'd like to know about your father?"

Harry said nothing, eyes cast down at the bony hand sticking out of his sling. He didn't look up again until Amanda waved goodbye outside the hospital and John opened the door of his truck for him.

Harry ignored the hand he offered to help him in, pulling himself up with his one working arm and settling into the seat with stiff precision.

John shut the door with one hand and fished out his phone with the other.

It was time to meet up with his boys again.

_**To be continued**_

I'm kinda on the fence about John's emotional reaction to Harry. He'll always love his first two kids more, but I wasn't interested in writing a 'doing this out of duty only' kind of John.


	2. Chapter 2

Whilst working on this story, I realised how much happened in so little time. John was dead after very brief appearances in only one season and yet somehow he's such a huge force in fandom. Spooky. Or good writing. :)

**Repercussions**

John pulled into the gas station with a sigh. It was one of the old ones – he couldn't just swipe a card and fuel up. He'd have to go in and pay – leaving an injured minor and supernatural target alone in the car.

"I won't be long. Keep the doors locked." He said gruffly, trying for reassuring but many years out of practice. "Do you need anything while I'm in there?"

He asked just in case, but didn't expect an answer. The boy hadn't spoken to him even once, communicating only with bare nods or shakes of his head. He'd barely even looked at him after Amanda had made the introductions.

True to form, Harry just continued to stare out of the passenger window. He also made no move to lock the door.

When John reached across to do it for him, there was an instant, subtle tension in the boy. Every muscles tensed, fight-or-flight reaction easy for the hunter to recognise.

"You can get out, if you need to." He reassured. "I just wanna make sure you stay safe. I won't be long."

So saying, he swung himself out of the car and set about the ritual of gassing up.

Less than a minute later, John left the small building and looked up just as Harry vanished into the treeline.

He bolted after him, going from a standing start to a flat-out run with the ease of years of conditioning.

Harry didn't stand a chance.

John grabbed him around the waist, a few meters into the trees and grunted as the kid cried out and struggled. One elbow smashed back but John knew his grips too well for the impact to be anything more than mildly uncomfortable.

"Easy, Harry! Just _talk _to me, will ya!" The boy stopped thrashing at his voice, but was still strung tight. John loosened his grip cautiously. "At least listen to _me _talk, alright?"

He didn't let go until he got a short, grudging nod. Harry took a few quick steps away, but turned to face him even as he kept his head down.

John sighed. "Listen, I know this has got to be pretty scary for you." John began, trying to treat the traumatised youth the way he would any young victim he picked up during a hunt. "I don't know if you're scared of _me_, or scared that the thing that killed your family will come for me too.."

_Bingo_, he thought, catching a flash of green eyes darting to him and away again.

"But there's something you should know." He continued. "The thing that killed your family and hurt you... something just like it attacked my family too. Well, the rest of _your_ family, I should say."

He had Harry's absolute attention now. His whole body was leaning in slightly, even if his eyes remained locked on the road.

"So now, I kill things like that. So do your brothers."

Harry looked up, startled. Guessing at the reason, John tried smiling.

"The last of your family are hunters, Harry. We kill supernatural things like what attacked you and your family all the time. If whatever it was comes after you again, you _will_ be safest with us. And _we_ are the most capable of protecting ourselves - and you - out of anyone else you might turn to."

John hesitated a moment, but this had to be hammered in.

"Harry. If you run somewhere and it _does_ come after you? Not only will _you_ be at risk, but so will everyone around you. And they won't be prepared like us."

He risked a hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder.

"Harry." He prompted, unsurprised when murky eyes rose to his own. "We'll take care of you. I promise."

For a moment, the boy looked like he'd finally say something.

Then the moment passed, green eyes dropped, and a head of messy black hair nodded silently.

John withheld another sigh and curled an arm around his son's shoulders to guide him back to the car. The move was habitual from the last time his sons had been short enough to do it, so he didn't think about Harry's reaction, or how remarkable his _lack_ of reaction was.

_Repercussions_

"Hey."

Harry stirred, blinking awake from a nap he hadn't meant to take. He was still curled up on the passenger seat, back to the door, but now John's jacket was tucked over his balled-up body like a blanket. Harry clenched it softly in one hand as he uncurled.

It felt... strange. Like half of a song he thought he knew, but couldn't name.

He placed the jacket carefully on the seat between them as he sat up straight and looked out the window.

_Castle Storage_ glowed in neon lights over a long stretch of wall.

"We don't have space for your whole trunk." John explained, turning the engine off. "So I've got a duffel for you to put some clothes and your most important items in, and everything else can stay here."

Harry stared at the man - his Muggle father. Leave it here? A trunk full of wizard stuff? Sure, it had secrecy wards built into it as standard - designed specifically so Muggles never got curious and looked inside - but it still seemed insane to just leave his stuff in a brick shed and hope nobody ever broke in.

"I know you probably don't want to." John said after a moment of quiet staring, his dark eyes unwavering. "But we don't have a lot of choices, kiddo. We move around a lot. There just isn't space for the whole thing."

Harry swallowed and nodded. John nodded back, once, then opened his door and left the cab, slamming it shut behind him. By the time Harry left as well, the man was already half-way to the door of the lock-up with Harry's trunk in hand.

Once inside, the man placed an empty duffel on top and disappeared into the depths of the room to check on something else. Harry got the distinct impression that he wanted privacy just as much as Harry did, so he was quick about opening his trunk and transferring the most important items.

Wand first, of course. Using it over the Summer might bring the Ministry howling, but... well. It was better than being caught unawares again.

Next in was the invisibility cloak, wrapped around his wand and tucked into the corner. In shadow, it just looked like slightly shiny grey cloth. He wanted to add his books on top but knew he'd never get away with it without blowing his secret. As quickly as he could he grabbed whatever leftover snacks he had - hunger still haunted his stomach - and then realised he should probably grab some clothes too.

He _really _wanted to bring his photo album. It hurt to leave it behind.

"Finished?" John strode back into the fore-area and Harry slammed the trunk shut, feeling it lock itself. Almost in the same moment, John's sharp-eyed attention drifted slightly away as the Muggle-repelling charms made him disinterested.

Harry nodded, slinging the duffel bag over his uninjured shoulder. With only clothing, wand and cloak inside (and a few packets of bertie botts beans plus a couple of sugar quills), the bag was visibly light and clearly not full.

John quirked an eyebrow at it as he hustled them out.

"Now that's packing like a Winchester." He muttered, voice almost lost beneath the rattle of the storage door closing.

Inexplicably, Harry felt warm.

_Repercussions_

Sam and Dean waited tensely.

After the mess with Meg and the daevae, they hadn't expected to hear from their father again for a long while, no matter _what_ he said about working together and their status as adults.

And now he was meeting them here.

Obviously, they had holy water on hand.

The growl of their dad's truck was abruptly audible and Sam quickly grabbed the salt and made a thick line around the doorway, shrugging at Dean's raised eyebrow.

A knock on the door, heavy and firm, used their old code. Not that it meant anything to a demon or shape-shifter, of course.

"It's open." Dean called, ready with a weapon just in case. Their father opened the door, observing their postures with approval. His sons, however, just gaped at the short, skinny kid standing at his side. They gaped even more at the protective arm their father had slung over the kid's shoulders.

"Sam, Dean. Meet your little brother, Harry." 

_Repercussions_

"_Christo._"

John glared without heat at his eldest as he ushered his youngest into the room..

"Harry, why don't you see what's on tv?" John suggested. Harry didn't look up from his shoes, although at John's slight nudge he stepped further into the room, circling around his two much larger half-brothers to hover by the television.

John jerked his head at his sons who exchanged wary and baffled looks, but preceded him outside. Catching the suddenly stiff posture of his fourth (third, _third_, he shouldn't ever even _think_ about Adam, it wasn't safe) son, John opened the window blinds.

"We'll be right outside, Harry. Standing right in front of the window." He promised, before stepping out himself and closing the door. He moved to keep Harry within sight through the window, then faced his two eldest children.

"Dad?" Sam queried, Dean's eyes just as wary as his brother's tone.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Remember all my talks about safe sex?" He asked Dean, who looked confused for only an instant before his face paled and he shot an incredulous look first at his brother, then through the window at the kid perched hesitantly on the end of the bed nearest the tv.

Catching his expression, John chuckled.

"He's not yours, son." He reassured dryly. "I think he's a little old for that."

Dean looked somewhat relieved, but still frowned.

"You had another kid?!" Sam asked disbelievingly. Dean said nothing, at least not verbally.

"I had an unprotected one night stand." John corrected. "Moment of weakness – moment of stupidity. She went home to England, I went home to you boys – and never thought about it again."

"So all that crap about-" Sam started scornfully. John glared.

"All 'that crap' was something I told you boys _because _I'd done stuff like it." He growled. "I didn't want you to make the mistakes I did."

Sam shut up and looked away, frowning.

"So.. what's happened?" Dean asked, face blank. John wished he could still read his boy, but Dean just wasn't as open as he used to be. He'd learnt how to hide a lot from his father, around about the time John started leaving him alone. It was a parallel he didn't like to look at too closely.

"Demons, maybe. Definitely something supernatural." John replied, glancing into the room and catching Harry quickly turn away.

"His parents died in a house fire when he 15 months old. Then a few weeks ago something ripped apart his aunt and uncle and put a poker through Harry's shoulder. Their CPS tracked me down from some old diaries of his aunt's and I agreed to take him in."

Sam looked at him closely, his mind no doubt going over everything he'd just said much faster than he himself had processed it.

"He doesn't fit the pattern." He observed, jumping right to the prickly heart of the matter. John nodded shortly. "Not that it means anything." He replied curtly, never happy to discuss _this_ with Sam. He didn't say it, but it was easy to think. _A different batch might have different variables._

Sam's jaw tightened and he looked away again, taking his own turn to scrutinise the thin boy sitting quietly in their motel room.

"Are we sure _he_ didn't have something to do with it?" Dean asked evenly.

John met his gaze, understanding everything that was being asked, and shrugged again.

"There's no way to know for sure." He admitted. "He may have been possessed – he may not have been. All we know is that he isn't _now_ and he's not talking – hasn't talked, in fact, since the attack."

"Does he know about...?"

John nodded at Sam. "I explained a bit about us being hunters and what we do on the drive over here." He said grimly. "Mostly to stop him from running off. I definitely got the impression that whatever it was, the kid expects it to follow him."

"Then we'd better get ready." Dean said brusquely, expression still blank. This time, Sam joined his father in eyeing his brother, seeing more than John but not everything.

If not even Sam could see what Dean thought about their new sibling, John wasn't sure it was anything good.

The three men re-entered the room, causing Harry to jump instantly to his feet. The TV flickered silently to the side, bathing him in light.

"Harry." John began, closing the motel door behind him and then the blinds. "This is Dean – he's 26. And this is Sam, he's 22. Boys, this is Harry – he's fifteen."

Harry looked over and nodded, not quite making eye contact. His entire posture remained defensive. A wary animal, ready to dodge and ready to run.

After a short, awkward, Winchester silence, Sam went to the room's phone. "I'll call in for a pull-out." He volunteered. John nodded curtly. "I'll get some food. Dean," he met his eldest son's eyes, once again wishing he knew what was happening behind that mask.  
"Harry's dressings need to be changed." He said, not quite ordering.

Dean just nodded curtly and moved to fish the first aid kit out a duffel. John could feel Harry's alarmed eyes on him, but ignored it.

The sooner the kid got used to his brothers the better.

He'd be spending a lot of time with them, after all. 

_**To be continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

Just a quick update, like a gasp of air before I continue drowning under assignments.

Apologies for the delay on this fic in particular. It's actually one of the most complex to write because it takes place within a jam-packed time period for Supernatural itself. I've never been a fan of just inserting a new character into events from the show, but I also don't want to just ignore everything that took place. That means research and tweaking. On top of that, in the vague June/July period we're in _right now_, in the Supernatural timeline, _six_ episodes happened - including the finale. I have to work out how to blend the story that _was_ with the story I want to tell. It's not _hard_ work, but it _is_ busywork. :)

**Repercussions**

The next morning, just before dawn, John Winchester slipped silently outside, duffel over his shoulder, and closed the door behind him with the barest snick of sound.

"Hey Dad."

He jolted, eyes snapping over to the tall shadow that slunk out of the night, pepsi can in hand.

Dammit. He'd thought Sam was in the bathroom. Hazel eyes swept over him, brow lowering in immediate understanding.

"You're ditching him with us." Sam accused flatly, his face disbelieving even though his tone very much wasn't.

Why, _why_ did his son have to be so quick to think the worst of him? …Often correctly.

"Sam, nothing has changed since Chicago, regardless of Harry." John whispered sharply. "It's no safer to be together now than it was then - it's less, in fact, because now we've got a civilian unlucky enough to share genes with us. I don't _want_ to 'ditch' Harry, but I don't want to drag him into danger any more than I wanted to with you boys, and _you_ can take better care of yourselves than he can."

Sam just glared. In Sam-speak that meant he could see the logic in his father's argument, even if he was too angry to concede it.

"He's not trained like you boys were." John lowered his voice even further. He didn't want to argue with his son – he never did. "_And_ he's injured and they've already come for him at least once. I trust you boys to take care of each other and now I need to trust you to take care of Harry too. To keep moving, to teach him how to watch his back - and yours. Not forever, just long enough for me to get these final pieces in place. I'm sorry to ask this of you – I am. But, accident or not, he's a Winchester and he's defenceless without us. I need to take care of the demon – for your Mom, for Jess, for all those other families but most of all – for you boys. To keep you safe from him. I can't let him finish whatever he's got planned."

He risked raising his hands to Sam's shoulders, which – whilst still tense – were slumped a little.

"So I need you boys to step in and take care of him for me – just until I'm done. Then.. then you can go back to school, Sammy. Dean can find a job or a woman or whatever he wants and I'll raise Harry like I _should_ have raised you boys – able to protect himself but _also_ able to live in the normal world if he wants to."

Sam looked shocked at this inadvertent admission of parental failure, but didn't let it slow him down.

"At least stay and have breakfast first." He half-demanded, half-pleaded. "There's no _need_ to skulk off before dawn - and the last thing _Harry_ needs is a dad who promises protection, then throws him at two complete strangers and takes off."

John turned away abruptly, before Sam could see how much his words had cut him.

"Fine." He muttered. "We'll find a diner." He felt more than heard Sam relax behind him.

That was one change in their relationship he was glad for - less antagonism, on both their parts. Stanford had been a shock and lesson for them both.

Sam, for all he still disagreed with his father - on almost everything - was less aggressive about it. And John, faced with a son he'd regretted losing for years, and who had suffered something close to his own loss... well, maybe he was a little less aggressive himself.

Poor Dean had been the only one to inherit Mary's ability and inclination to keep things level, to get all sides and compromise rather than go straight for the throat.

Speaking of Dean...

"How's your brother doing?" John quietly asked the night. Sam sighed softly and came to stand next to him, looking out over the parking lot.

"I'm not 100% sure." He admitted. "But if I had to guess... I'd think he's feeling a bit betrayed." At John's incredulous look, Sam shrugged a shoulder and smiled slightly.

"He'll get over it." He predicted. "After all, it's not like you knew about this kid and hid him from us." John kept his gaze steady, didn't even blink. "But, you know..." Sam hesitated and fell silent. John could guess the rest, though.

He'd tampered with Dean's perception of his father as a grieving husband and, by having a child with another woman - even by accident - with the memory of Mary. Of course, Dean had known his father wasn't a monk, but... well, there was a big difference between knowing something and choosing to believe it.

"And Harry?" He ventured after a moment. Sam snorted.

"You kidding? Dean's already adopted him, even if he won't admit it yet. Give it a few weeks and he'll be teaching the kid how to drive and pick up chicks - at the same time."

At this, John smiled a little. Dean had an enormous heart, for all that he normally reserved it for his tiny family. If he could accept Harry, the both of them would benefit from it. Harry would get a chance to experience family that cared, and Dean would have someone to look up to him again - someone to provide what Sammy had quite harshly - if rightfully - grown out of.

"And you?" He asked, even more quietly. He had the vaguest of awareness that the youngest child tended to resent it when a new one came along - an echo of a concern he'd had over twenty years ago when baby Sammy was born - and on _top_ of that, he was bringing in a competitor for Dean's motherly/brotherly affections.

Sam hummed, tilting his head in a sort of sideways shrug.

"I'm not quite sure." He admitted honestly, but with a smile in his voice. "He's so... puny. And I've never had a younger brother before." He hesitated a second, before continuing. "And... I dunno. I guess, I'm kinda worried that I won't... y'know."

"Measure up to Dean?" John asked knowingly, sliding a glance at his son, who just looked away, shrugging his answer. Measuring up to Dean had always been a source of anxiety for Sam. First as a young boy who wanted to be just like his cool older brother, then a rebellious teen seething at being compared to him.

But if there was one thing John knew, it was how much Sam loved his older brother, _and_ still thought the world of him even when his strides towards independence and teenaged short-sightedness had him tearing his brother down.

Having his own younger brother was like a test and a treat and a trial all at once.

"It's just... weird." Sam concluded softly. "In my head, I get that he's my brother. But I guess, I don't really feel anything yet. Nothing more than I'd feel for any kid that had supernatural shit on his tail, you know?" His son spoke hesitantly, as though expecting an admonishment.

John just chuckled.

"I'm pretty sure that's normal, Sam." He said dryly. "I'll just be grateful if you boys can get along. I'd be reaching for the holy water if you started hugging or managed it without any fights along the way. Sooner or later, that kid is going to come out of his shock and you'll get a nice dose of teen attitude with a side of Winchester stubborn. _Then_ tell me how you feel about him."

Sam laughed quietly.

The two of them together like that, close and connected in quiet humour, was the best moment of John's life in years. 

_Repercussions_

Harry could hear his new… family… through the motel's thin walls. He'd woken to cartoons on the telly, Dean sitting on his bed half-watching as he sharpened a massive knife and John and Sam bent over a couple of books on the small table by the window.

In the privacy of the bathroom, standing under the shower, Harry listened to low voices talk and picked at the plastic taped securely over his wounded shoulder. When John had suggested he wash up, Dean had pulled him aside almost absently to apply it, as though he'd done it a dozen times before.

It was the same way he'd changed his bandages last night. He'd taken off his ring, scrubbed up quick and thorough then removed the slightly pussy dressing from his shoulder more gently than even the nurses had. He'd cleaned it more gently too, taking a squirty bottle of something and a cloth and dabbing away blood and pus without hesitation - but through it all his face had been set, emotionless, and he hadn't met his eyes once.

Awkward was an understatement.

These men, these two... _tall_, broad shouldered men who called John 'Dad'… they were his brothers. But it. It didn't _mean_ anything. Not to any of them. Harry was just some strange kid thrown into their lives. And Harry himself?

All his life, he'd dreamed of some other family coming to take him away from the Dursleys. He'd even daydreamed about being the illegitimate bastard Vernon had slurringly accused him of, once he was old enough to understand what it meant. He hadn't even cared about what that meant for his mother, at first, too busy being wrapped up in the sheer possibility that some day some stranger on the street or at the door would stop him and say 'Hey, that's my son, and he's coming home with me'.

_-blood in the back of his throat, screaming, _

_the stench of human insides, something _alien_ in his body-_

Wish granted.

He flinched with a hiss as previously-lukewarm water suddenly scalded him. He fumbled with the cold tap, feeling his magic shift uneasily under his skin. Ever since _it_ happened, his magic had felt unsettled - almost nauseous. Maybe it was because it wasn't _only_ his.

Between one breath and the next he was _there_ again, could _feel_ it again; his Aunt's blood spraying hot and hard over his face, the power of his mother's sacrifice rising and burning, unfocused and unstable and _burningburningburning_.

He shook his head sharply and lifted his face to the now-comfortable spray, eyes and mouth open. It stung, kept him in the here-and-now and if maybe some tears joined it, nobody had to know.

His skin prickled again just as the water temperature _plummeted_, so cold it hurt.

He jerked away, thrashing past the curtain to stand shivering and dripping in the centre of the room. A reflexive shout caught painfully in his throat, right alongside everything else since the night real evil had murdered his family. He coughed, trying to clear it, but choked instead. Even the air was _freezing_. He'd noticed it in the hospital too. Whenever he got caught up in his memories - flashbacks, the doctor had warned him - the temperature just _dropped_.

Or things moved.

Accidental magic, just as useless as it had always been his whole life. For every locked door bursting open there'd been a dozen wigs turned blue - and blamed on him - or levitation to the roof - which got him the cupboard - or blowing up Aunt Marge - which he'd been convinced at the time would get him either killed by his Uncle or expelled from school. Nine times out of ten, accidental magic just made things worse and here he was with unsettled magic and a supposed-father who said he and his sons _hunted_ things. Things like what had attacked him. Things like Harry.

He grabbed a rough towel and wrapped it around himself, clumsily secured it with his bad hand - he might never get full use back, the doctor had said - and reached out to turn off the shower with his other. Maybe Mr Winchester, John, his muggle _father_, would explain more about just _how_ he thought he could protect them all, where wizard magic and his mother's sacrifice hadn't been enough.

Maybe he should just _leave_, just get away from these unfortunate strangers before they went the way of the Dursleys. In more ways than one.

_Repercussions_

The Winchesters entered the diner like they owned it.

It stemmed from years of familiarity with diners in general. They had a pattern of behaviour, of movement and even of seating order.

That stumbled a bit when instead of being passively guided to sit by the window, as Sam had been at his age, Harry set his feet and silently waited for _them _to sit first.

An onlooker wouldn't have seen anything beyond a slight hesitation, oblivious to the tense moment of rapid recalculation.

After a beat, Sam moved to the window seat that John had been steering Harry towards and Dean sat across from him. It left Harry sitting next to Sam, who had enough reach and strength to grab the kid and haul him away from any danger if need be and put John across from their youngest to guard from any demon-possessed waitresses or other threats.

Sam kind of found it a bit funny, especially considering the fact that Harry himself had no idea how rebellious he'd just been. When _he _was a kid, any attempt to sit anywhere but by the wall or window was met with a firm, warning '_Sammy'_.

It was understandable that the kid didn't want to be boxed in by three tall and unknown men, or maybe he just didn't like window seats, but he highly doubted he'd get away with it for very long. John and Dean _both_ were too protective - and controlling - to let it slide.

Still, he slid an amused look at his brother, who rolled his eyes at him as he inspected the menu with an absently practiced eye. Sam followed his lead, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry just stared blankly down at his own.

The kid hadn't slept well last night. One of the reasons Sam had been up before his Dad tried to sneak out was simply because Harry's infrequent shifting made it difficult for him to drop off. Dad, on the other hand, was an expert at forcing himself to sleep only to wake before dawn. Now, though, the kid's eyes were puffy and he could probably do with some coffee - which reminded him, shouldn't he still be on medication?

He asked as much, to which his father produced a bottle of pills that Harry completely ignored. Sam poured him a glass of water anyway.

"Harry." John said. His eldest sons recognised it for the order it was. His youngest just reached out for the pills - and put them in his pocket.

Sam suppressed a grin, something that was a little easier to do when a glance at Dean showed not a similarly hidden amusement but something much more closed off and neutral. What was up with him? Was he still pissed at Dad's infidelity to a dead woman - even if that dead woman was Mom? It wasn't unprecedented for his big brother to simmer silently and bite anyone _except_ their father, but a night's sleep was usually enough for him to settle for the occasional barbed remark if not forget entirely.

Holding a grudge was usually _his_ job, and it felt weird to be the one rolling with the punches.

Then again, Mom had never been the half-healed wound to him that she was to his brother.

"Dude," He cut in, before his father - not very good at handling disobedience at the best of times - lost his temper. "You might feel alright now, but trust me: If you wait until it hurts to take some painkillers, you'll spend the next hour miserable. You don't _have_ to take 'em, it's your body. We're just trying to spare you something _we've_ all regretted doing, that's all."

He went back to his menu, knowing from the angle of Dean's that both of them were only pretending to read it.

At his side, silent and stiff, Harry fished out the pills and took one.

Recommended dosage was two, but some things you just had to learn through experience.

A waiter made his way over, lanky and greasy and just as enthused to serve them as they were to be served _by_ him.

The three elder Winchesters rattled off their orders but when their server turned to Harry…

Sam's newfound younger brother just looked down, fingertips clenched _white_ around his menu, shoulders rising defensively. He didn't say a word, just breathed slightly more erratically as the silence dragged on.

_Shit_. Sam thought, eyes flickering to meet Dean's - which were a shade more normal as they sparked with equal concern and recognition. _He's heading for a panic attack_.

"He'll have a salad, dressing on the side, toast and scrambled eggs and a small side of bacon." Sam rattled off. At least one of those things should be acceptable, especially considering the nauseating effect pain and heavy painkillers could have.

"And juice." Dean added gruffly, not looking at any of them. "Orange."

The server noted it down unenthusiastically and meandered off to put their order in. Sam took a sip of water to hide his fond smile. Orange juice had been Dean's cure-all weapon of choice when they were kids.

Server gone, their Dad leaned forward.

"Here's the deal, Harry." He said quietly. "I'm going to tell you what I know, and what I suspect. I know you've been… _unwilling_ to speak since what happened to you-" Lightning fast, Sam and Dean exchanged another look. Not shy, then. Traumatically mute.

"-but anything you can tell us about what attached you will help us prepare and help us hunt it down and kill it."

Harry's gaze never lifted from the table, although it skated from one Winchester to another.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Swallowed.

Sam's fingers itched for his laptop. He didn't like going into situations blind. He wished his father had mentioned that Harry was suffering from something like PTSD _earlier_ so he could research it a little, have an idea of how to approach it - and most importantly, know what _not_ to do. He felt a twinge of familiar annoyance at his father for just bulling on ahead.

Harry didn't say anything. Their dad continued.

"According to the forensic report, there was one very unusual substance found that they couldn't explain. Sulphur. In our experience, that's generally a sign of demonic activity."

Dad's low, calm voice seemed to be helping. Harry was still wound tight, but no longer breathing so erratically. The background noise of the diner's morning rush was helpfully both comforting and concealing.

"Demons can possess humans, especially when they're emotional or upset, and use their bodies for a time." Dad continued. "They generally either leave on their own after they've caused enough destruction or are exorcised by hunters like us. They generally don't look any different, although if someone's behaviour is unusual - or their eyes are black from edge to edge - it's a pretty strong sign. And the sulphur, of course."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Thinking? Or reliving? If he freaked out in the middle of the diner, Sam would have to act fast to prevent him accidentally damaging his shoulder further.

"Sometimes their eyes are a different colour." Their dad continued after a pause, groping carefully for a sign of comprehension, or recognition. "Red maybe - or yellow."

All three of them stilled. They expected yellow to cause a reaction. Harry was a Winchester, if it _were_ to be a demon…

Harry swallowed again. Shook his head. Refusal or denial or retreat maybe. Sam sighed and sat back, fiddling absently with his cutlery.

"Red eyes."

Three sets of eyes shot to their smallest, youngest member. Harry's head was ducked so far down he was basically speaking to his chest. His shoulders trembled with tension and his hands were fists under the table, but he was _speaking_.

"R-red eyes."

Sam's mind started churning through what it knew of red-eyed demons - or monsters, since he didn't actually know much about the former. Dean just stared, still slightly distant but absolutely focused on Harry. Their dad breathed out slowly and nodded.

"That's good, Harry. What else can you tell me? Did they say anything? Did you hear a name?"

The head of black hair just shook again, harder this time. The teen's entire body shrunk in on itself, edging away from Sam and visibly shutting down. For a second, Sam could have sworn the knife in front of him _moved_.

A quick glance showed that neither brother nor father seemed to have spotted it though. Maybe the table had just been bumped.

Their server returned, lank hair hanging dangerously close to the dishes resting on his arms. He plonked them down on the table without bothering to make sure everyone got what they ordered, then left again.

The three of them silently exchanged dishes, Dean snagging Harry's eggs on toast to quickly cut them up for him first. Then he glared at Sam's grin, like Sam would mock him for being considerate of a kid with reduced function in his dominant arm. Sam widened his grin, just to be obnoxious, and shifted his legs away from Dean's retaliatory kick.

Harry stared blankly at the array of food before him then sighed almost silently and pulled the salad closer to pick at.

Dean rolled his eyes at the choice but Sam felt inexplicably a little smug. Maybe being a big brother wouldn't be so hard after all.

_Repercussions_

After breakfast, in which John tried to make Harry eat more and Harry responded by ceasing to eat at all - just what he needed, _another_ passive-aggressive son - his original plan reared its head again, this time with three witnesses. In the parking lot, standing between their two cars, Sam glared at him and Dean watched him with his horribly blank 'nothing is affecting me, no really, who needs their heart anyway' dutifully non-judgemental expression. Both knew exactly what their father wanted to do now.

He turned to Harry, resting a hand on his shoulder without thinking. Harry startled, but didn't move away.

"I'm going to leave you with your brothers." He said bluntly. He'd always been a 'rip it off fast' kind of guy. Harry just sort of froze under his hand, then jerkily looked up at him. _Jesus_ his eyes were green. Dean could never claim that colour again because Harry had him beat hands down. It was almost supernatural in intensity. It didn't help that they were currently wide in distress and looking up at him like he was tossing him out the back of his truck to distract a pack of werewolves.

Sam snorted derisively. He and Dean shifted in that unconscious way they had, standing shoulder to shoulder against him. Hopefully, not _also_ against Harry.

"I've been tracking something big and I'm adding your red-eyed demon to the list. It's dangerous, actively going after them, so I want all three of you boys out of it. Dean and Sam have grown up with hunting, they'll be able to teach you what you need to know to take care of yourself. They'll show you how to ward against demons too, so you don't have to worry about… _whatever_ happened, happening again. Just stay with them, until I've finished this, and they'll keep you safe for me. Once everything is over, I'll find a place and raise you properly, I promise. All three of you will be on the road a lot, so keep an eye out - see which part of the country you'd like best to live in. Once we're all safe, everything will be… normal. I promise."

He didn't look up at his other two sons. He didn't dare. He shifted his hand to the back of Harry's head, fingers sliding through his hair in a careful ruffle, then pulled away and opened the door of his truck.

"Dad-!" Sam blurted. It was too much to hope he'd stay quiet. He ignored him, getting in his truck and shutting the door on "-we can help!".

After a moment, he wound his window down. He locked eyes with his middle child, let his weariness and pleading leak through.

"You _can_ help, by staying out of it. By staying safe. Hunt things, watch out for your brother - both of them - and keep your heads down." He paused. "The end is almost here, Sam. I can feel it. I know you miss your girl. I know you want revenge. But _I _don't want you turning into _me_, trying to get it. Be safe." 

He wound up the window, started the car and drove off without a single look back. He couldn't afford it. Leaving his sons wasn't half so easy as they no doubt assumed. He loved them. They made the world a better place just by being in it.

And that was why he couldn't risk them. That was why he had to run this last mission on blackout, and just trust them to take care of themselves.

And now, to take care of Harry.

Sighing, he checked his phone. A tracker, someone who kept an eye out for patterns but didn't actually hunt themselves, had sent him a message. He hesitated, but copied the coordinates and forwarded it to Dean's phone. Hunting kept the boys moving, which helped keep them off the radar, above _and_ below.

And if it helped keep them off _his_ tail as well… all the better.

_Repercussions_

Three brothers sat silently in a sleek black Impala, each staring out a different window. Something beeped.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.

_**43°0′23″N 89°25′53″W**_

"Well." He spoke, voice rough with everything he wasn't saying. "I guess we're headin' out."

_**To be continued**_

Yes, Sam drinks Pepsi. That should have been all the sign his family needed as to his diabolical fate.


End file.
